


The Softness We Stole

by Nos4a2no9



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Wartime, making love because they’re saps, sex in a tent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nos4a2no9/pseuds/Nos4a2no9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve, Bucky, and love behind the lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Softness We Stole

**Author's Note:**

> Ack my first Steve/Bucky fic! Just easing into this pairing, so if you spot anything OOC please tell me. Do your part to make America a better place.

It'd snowed at some point during the previous night. Bucky had taken first watch and when he'd handed things off to Morita at 01:00 there hadn't been so much as a flake in the sky. But now the snow was falling in earnest, drifting down and covering the whole muddy world in a soft blanket of pearly white.

"Beautiful, huh?" Steve's breath was a warm huff of air on Bucky's bare shoulder. They had been lying together in a nest of blankets on the canvas tent floor--army cots weren't wide enough to hold two big men, not even pushed together--and from this position, Bucky was able to see under the tent flap and the white world beyond. He couldn't argue with Steve. It did look beautiful.

"Covers up all kinds of sins," Bucky said, pleased when it came out just as suggestive as he'd meant it. He followed it with a lingering stretch from head to toes that sent him arching back against Steve, grinding his backside into his bunkmate's lap. That huff of air again on his bare shoulder, and Steve's warm fingers on his hips. Steve hesitated like he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to slow the roll of Bucky's hips entirely, or just hold him steady so Steve could grind up against him. Either one sounded just fine to Bucky.

"You're in a good mood." 

Steve's voice was low and scratchy from sleep--Steve'd pulled last watch--and the sound of it sent a delicious thrill through Bucky. He reached up behind his head to thread his fingers through Steve's close-cropped hair, yawning as he twisted and drew Steve down close into a kiss. Steve ran pretty hot these days, super soldier serum apparently being a close cousin to butane, so his lips were just as warm as his fingers as they kissed, slow and sleepy. Steve slid his hands off Bucky's hips and wandered up his torso, those large mitts of his stroking up over Bucky's stomach and pectorals in long, smooth strokes. 

"Mmmm," Bucky managed, "That's..." _Good_ , he meant, but the word got away from him when Steve started to trail soft, wet kisses down the side of his neck. With 6 feet, two-hundred-pounds-plus of Steve Rogers pressed up against his backside, Sgt. First Class James Buchanan Barnes wasn't feeling particularly articulate. 

It wasn't often he and Steve got to wake up together like this, not while they were busy chasing Hydra all over Europe. They usually bivouacked in abandoned fields and collapsed barns and bombed-out villages, hunched down in the mud sleeping back-to-back, with the rest of the Howlers snoring nearby. Not a lick of privacy to be had. But not this morning. They were supposed to sit tight for the next few days and wait for a resupply. Cap'd said they should get a rest in while they could. 

Privately, Bucky suspected Steve had called a break just so he'd have a chance to fuck Bucky senseless at least once before Christmas. Steve took the holidays seriously, like the good Catholic boy he was.

The thought made Bucky snicker and Steve paused, stopping with the flats of his palms pressed over the swell of Bucky's chest.

"What?"

"Nothin'," Bucky mumbled, rolling his hips back against Steve's hips. And yep, there it was, right on schedule. "And good morning America."

"You're an awful tease, Buck," Steve rumbled against him. Buck reached back and cupped Steve's backside, drawing him closer until he felt every inch of his captain's big cock pressing up against his ass. They'd both stripped down in a hurry last night, eager to dive under the blankets and neck for a bit until Bucky'd had to go on watch. They hadn't been able to so much as kiss all week, and it'd been wearing at them both. It was a little tougher now to tell, with Steve: the serum had changed his face, widened his jaw and had made him look like a stranger those first few days. But eventually Bucky had figured out what the new tightness at the corners of Steve's mouth and eyes meant, the thinning of his lips. Exhaustion and near-constant hunger left their own traces on Steve's face (the limited rations they had to live on behind enemy lines didn't quite meet the needs of Steve's new metabolism), but nothing seemed to wear on him faster than not being able to get his hands or his mouth on some part of Bucky at least once every 24hrs. Not that Bucky was any better; he started to get twitchy after just an afternoon or an evening spend watching Steve running and jumping and coldcocking Nazis. 

Hopeless cases, both of them. 

Bucky shifted again, feeling the insistent press of Steve's cock lined up with the seam of his ass. They were bare except for their boxers. Two little layers of cotton. All that stood between them and victory. And Bucky for damned sure wasn't going to screw up a mission like this. 

"You got the stuff?" he whispered, rolling his hips back again in one fluid motion. He heard Steve's quickly-stifled moan. 

"Yeah, but I thought--" 

"That's your problem, Cap," Bucky said, biting his lip so he wouldn't let out a moan of his own, "you think too damn much."

"One of us has to." 

Jesus, Steve's hands. So big and strong and steady now, always somehow knowing exactly how to touch him. Right now Steve had one arm braced across Bucky's chest, right over his heart, and the other curled loose over the jut of Bucky's hip. It felt so good to be held like this. He could bear almost anything, he sometimes thought, if only it meant that Steve would hold him close just like this. 

Of course, being held was aces. But being _held down_ and fucked by Steve Rogers...now that was as closest to the idea of heaven that Bucky'd ever come. He twisted under Steve until they were face-to-face, so close their noses touched. Bucky ducked his head and caught the fleshy bit of Steve's earlobe in his mouth, nipping before he added. "Get the stuff, would you? Before I die of waitin'." 

"Sir yes sir," Steve said, ignoring Bucky's swat as he rolled away to fish out the little tin of grease Steve kept in his rucksack. Bucky had an identical one in his own pack, so he didn't even have to look and see what Steve was doing. He lay flat on his back and closed his eyes, humming a little as he slipped out of his underwear. He licked his hand in one broad swath and, without further ceremony, wrapped his hand around his hard cock. This was going to be good. 

"I can't find the darn-" Steve was saying, but left off when he caught sight of Bucky splayed out on their nest of blankets like some pagan offering, already hard and touching himself in anticipation of Steve's very focused attentions. Bucky barked out a muffled laugh at the expression on Steve's face. They didn't often have the luxury of getting naked together. And yes, sure, they'd grown up together, and over the years they both had gotten more than a few eyefuls of each other in their birthday suits. But it was different now. Now that they were... Now that they were.

Anyway. From the look of startled pleasure on Steve's face, Bucky suspected that Steve hadn't grown tired of seeing him like this. Once the war was over, Bucky intended to make it his personal mission of getting naked around Steve--and, better yet, getting Steve naked around him--as often as possible, for long as possible. For the rest of their lives, if Bucky had his way.

Bucky grinned, stroking himself with a long, slow pull. He bit his lower lip and tilted his head back a little, looking at Steve up through his lashes. Bucky was no dame. Had never wanted to be. But in moments like these, with Steve struck dumb by the sight of him, he could understand the appeal of being someone like Gretta Garbo or Rita Hayworth. It felt so good to be wanted by someone so badly that they couldn't breathe for it. 

"Buck," Steve started, and then swallowed. He tried again. "Bucky, you're gonna make me go off right now if you don't stop looking at me like that." 

In response, Bucky only leaned back and treated Steve to a panoramic view of him jerking himself off. Steve made some kind of strangled noise and hustled back over to their pallet, stopping only briefly to skin out of his boxers before he landed next to Bucky. The impact of knees on hard ground made Bucky wince, but he'd have put even money on the fact that Steve didn't even feel it. He set aside the little tin of grease with shaky hands and slowly, reverently, put his broad palm over Bucky's just as he hit a particularly good downstroke that made his vision bleed out at the edges. Bucky sucked in a breath and bit his lip and moaned when he felt Steve's hand on his lower back. And again when Steve tightened his grip. He kissed Bucky then, long and deep, and it didn't matter that they both had sour morning breath and bristly chins, or that it was 30 degrees outside and they were in the middle of a war zone. All that mattered was Steve's hands on Bucky's, moving together in sync like they always had.

Bucky knew he wasn't going to last. He'd barely opened his mouth to tell Steve as much before Steve pulled his hand away, ducked his head and--fuck--put his mouth over Bucky's dick. The sudden shock of Steve's hot, wet mouth replacing the dry warmth of their hands made Bucky's breath catch in a sob. He bit the sound back as much as he could, knowing that Steve would slow things down if they got too loud. Some of the Howlers knew about them--Morita, and Gabe for sure, and Bucky was sure Dum Dum suspected something--but no need to rub anyone's noses in it. So Bucky hushed himself and watched Steve's face as he sucked him off. No sign of hunger and exhaustion now: Steve looked transcendentally happy, like one of the stained-glass angels in the big window at St. Mike's. Hushed, and reverent, as if he still couldn't believe he got to do _this_. 

All of the changes wrought by the serum still threw Bucky. He couldn't stop himself now from reaching out to touch Steve's face or feel for his pulse, always trying to convince himself that the perfect male specimen before him was still _his_ Steve. That he was still the same short, skinny little guy with the big mouth and the even-bigger heart. The same Steve who couldn't run more than a block before his lips turned blue, whose heart palpated and whose lungs never worked right. Who'd struggled for survival every single day of his life. But now that Steve was filling a body more than double his original size, all bulging muscles and perfectly-formed appendages, agile and strong and with reflexes so sharp he still managed to surprise Bucky with the things he could do. So it usually took some effort for Bucky to run the calculations in his head. He had to spend time transposing his skinny, sickly friend into this perfect body, and remember that yeah, it was still Steve Rogers in there. Steve, who'd always loved Bucky with his whole, imperfect heart. 

Bucky put his hand on Steve's neck, right at the pulse point, and felt for the metronomic beat. _Thud-thud, thud-thud_ , steady as a washing machine. He shook and shivered and thrust up into Steve's mouth, the combination of Steve's wicked tongue and the comfort of that steady heartbeat pushing him up up up into the stratosphere. Steve was already there, ready and waiting, so when Bucky came and let out one loud groan it was with Steve's big hand clamped down over his mouth, dampening out the sound. And that was Steve all over, wasn't it? Bucky could always trust him to have his back, even at a moment like this. Especially at a moment like this. 

He flopped down on his back, chest heaving, and let out a soft chuckle at the sight of Captain America with his perfect hair mussed, mouth swollen and lips shining with spit and Bucky's spunk. 

"Y'look good, Stevie," Bucky chuckled, feinting for Steve's cheek. Steve caught his wrist and held it with a feral grin. His beautifully muscled chest was stained red with arousal, and Bucky let his eyes drift down the perfect lines of Steve's body before landing on the sight of Steve's massive erection. 

He'd never asked, and Steve would probably never confirm it, but that had _definitely_ benefited from Erskine's enhancements. "Jesus H. fucking Roosevelt Christ, Steve," Bucky breathed out, trying to ignore the way his heart twisted when Steve blushed. 

"Aw Buck," he muttered, not meeting Bucky's eyes until Bucky grabbed for his hand. 

"Sorry, sorry," Bucky said, running his lips across Steve's knuckles in apology. Steve'd never liked foul language, not even in the bedroom. "You just gotta know what you do to me, is all."

"I know," Steve smiled, blue eyes twinkling. Bucky nudged at him with his foot, tapping against Steve's calf with his toes. Dawn was already staining the sky; everyone would be up in a half-hour or so, rest or no rest, and Bucky still intended to be fucked hard and put away wet. It was almost Christmas, after all. 

"So, we gonna--" he tried, putting on his filthiest smile when Steve finally caught up and remembered the little tin of grease still clutched in his hand. 

"Oh! Yes," he said, looking so apologetic that Bucky had to laugh. He flopped down on his back again, bending his knees and drawing his heels up, but Steve touched his thigh. Bucky opened his eyes.

"Could we, um..." Steve blushed again, and then made some kind of complicated mime with his hands that Bucky couldn't follow. 

"I don't follow you."

Steve huffed a little in frustration, looking so much like the tiny loudmouthed kid he'd been that Bucky thought his vision had gone double. But no, he was Captain Steven Rogers now, and so Steve took the initiative and rolled in behind Bucky, propping him up so they were lying lined up chest-to-back.

"Ah. Gotcha," Bucky said. He drew up one knee as Steve popped open the tin, back in sync, and soon he felt Steve pushing one greased-up finger up inside him. Neither of them liked to bother too much with the preamble, as Bucky liked it hard and fast and a little rough, and Steve could be an impatient son of a bitch when he wanted something. It didn't take long before Steve pulled his finger out, put one hot hand on Bucky's knee, and whispered at the nape of Bucky's neck, lips moist against the skin there, "You ready for me, Buck?"

Bucky had only nodded, too aroused and buzzing with anticipation to try and get his mouth to work. Then Steve slid home in one long, smooth thrust that set fireworks shooting off behind Bucky's closed lids. The angle was a little awkward, yeah, but he wanted Steve's arms around him just like this, holding him close, holding him down. Wanted to feel that metronome of a heart pounding against his bare back, wanted to feel the heat of Steve's skin and the stain of his sweat marking him. He would brand Steve's name on his heart if he could. Instead, he just canted his hips back and held himself steady for Steve's rolling thrusts. 

Each time Steve's hips snapped forward it pushed Bucky that much closer to the edge, and for a few awful seconds he knew, without a doubt, that if Steve kept fucking him like that, slow and deliberate and so, so perfect, he'd lose his head and scream the house down. But Steve knew it, seemed to sense it, and he knew exactly what to do. When Bucky'd nearly gone mad with needing to cry out and scream and sob Steve's name, he put that huge hand of his over Bucky's mouth and thrust into him hard, whispering in his ear, "Let it out, Buck. No one's gonna hear." 

They came at the same time, Bucky going off the same time as Steve and crying out into the warm flesh of Steve's palm. 

When the world finally slid back into focus Bucky felt so boneless and drawn-out that he could barely move. So much for their slow, sleepy morning fuck. Not that he was complaining.

He looked up at the pitched canvas roof and tried to steady his breathing. His right foot itched and his left arm was falling asleep where it'd gotten crushed under Steve's bulk. He needed coffee and fried ham and, yes, even the horrible powdered eggs that the US Army insisted was actual food. But more than anything Bucky wanted to stay right where he was, itching and tingling and rumbling tummy and all. 

The reason was right next to him, sprawled out on his back and already drifting back to sleep with a soft, snuffling snore. Steve was already reaching out for him, ready to tug Bucky close and hold him so tight, like he planned on never letting him go. 

Which was just fine for Bucky. He had no intentions of letting go, either.

.end.


End file.
